Chapter 6

Mark crossed the plush carpet of the hotel's lobby, feeling of two minds at a time. Part of him was elated at being here, at this convention, here with the company and support of Desirée's parents. This was the first step on the way to the state senate, and from there, with luck, his path would lead to the US Senate. From there, it was anybody's guess how high he could go. At his side walked Thurston Mitchell, Desirée's straight-laced father, now nearly fifty, and his lovely fortyish wife, Margaret. The Mitchell's had come as friends of influence to lend support to Mark in his dealings with the party bosses. It was all based on nepotism and cronyism, and Mark didn't really like that aspect of it, but having Thurston with him was almost sure to give him that extra edge. It was almost certain that his party's nominee would be elected, for the other party was on the wane now, having displeased the voters in many ways. That meant Mark was on his way to the state capital, and the thought excited him. At thirty, he was old enough to move in those circles, and the Mitchells didn't seem to care that he was over ten years older than their beloved daughter. They trusted him, and that's what was important.

Excited and pleased with his situation, Mark was still unhappy to be separated from Desirée, who had stayed behind in Pickford's Meadows. Last night, they had been together, at Mark's apartment, and had made love again. Desirée had protested at first, saying it was still wrong, and dangerous, that she was afraid of pregnancy, afraid of many things. But they had got carried away, again, and they had ridden the rollercoaster of passion and ecstasy. At least, Mark had. Desirée's worries had retarded her climax and Mark's state of mind had hastened his and he had come and filled her belly with his seed, he thought before she had attained her peak. So they had parted melancholy this morning, and it pained him to leave her with that juvenile tear in her eye.

The small group paused in the lobby. "Mark, I think we could all do with a shower and freshening up before the banquet tonight. Margaret?"

Mark nodded. "Shall we say at nine, then, Thurston?"

"Nine it is," Mitchell answered, offering his arm to his lovely wife and strolling away with her.

Mark turned in the opposite direction, intending to get a drink in the bar before going up to his room, and that was when he saw Priscilla. She was standing by the elevator, her hand on her hip and that brazen expression on her face. She smiled, knowingly. She was beautiful in an irresistible way, and exuded sex, the way he always thought of her.

"How's the future state senator?" Priscilla asked in a velvet voice. "Got any time for a humble voter."

"Never mind that," he said, suspicious of her presence. "What are you doing here, Priscilla?"

"Just wanted to talk to you, since we're both here at the same convention."

"I only have a few minutes, Priscilla."

"I know," said the auburn-haired girl in the smart suit, standing tall and lovely by the elevator's polished door. "Word carries fast back in Pickford's, Councilor. My sources told me that Nancy Pace was deflowered yesterday, and by dear old Liz's pet dog."

Mark couldn't help but glare at her severely attractive young face.

"That's not to be taken lightly, Priscilla," he snapped, glancing toward the bar and simultaneously weighing his proximity to this twenty-six year old girl he'd known too many years. "The town's in an uproar."

"I'd expect that... with Clete Anderson inciting the whole thing, right?

"Right."

"Well, while that Lobo bastard was cavorting in town his uglies were raising hell with our livestock, darling," she said, her large green eyes engulfing him. "We can stand the herd loss, but they scared one of my favorite horses into a ditch. He broke his leg and we had to put him down. Something has to be done, Mark. That's why I've come up here to talk to these fat politicians."

"We're contemplating that, Priscilla," Mark said, fidgeting. "In the meantime, you can make a government claim for your reasonable losses."

"Oh? Don't be ridiculous, lover. You know me better than that. Besides, I wouldn't know how to begin. My Daddy handles all that kind of thing." She smiled in the sexiest way, moving along beside him as he finally decided to go up to his room and forget the drink, and her hip bumped against his as she followed him in the elevator, making him remember the untold, numerous hours and days they had spent together.

He might have married her, he abruptly thought; it had been that intimately close between them. In fact, he'd carried the idea in his head for years, before he'd come to realize that he was below her station. He said: "Is Bruce still in England?"

"The last I heard, but he was considering a trip to Spain. Seems if he's met a senorita of sorts who inspires him, and you know how Daddy is."

"Not really... but I tried, you'll have to admit that," Mark countered with a smile.

"Oh, come on, Baby," Priscilla laughed. "You were too close to the family not to read every one of us."

"Maybe you're right, Priss," he answered, his tired mind rehashing it all. "Maybe you are right! All the way down to the marrow, but that's all past now, water under the bridge?"

"What did you mean by that... all of the bullshit, I mean! What?" she vulgarly snapped at him. "Right down to the marrow. What's that supposed to mean?"

Mark smiled smugly. "Whatever you want it to mean, I guess, Priscilla." The door of the elevator opened and Mark moved down toward his room, noting with irritation that the young woman was still beside him. His key came out, opened the door, and he went in. Without a second's hesitation, Priscilla pushed her way into the room.

Mark turned. "What's going on now, Priscilla?"

"Sort of like old times isn't it, Darling?" she huskily whispered, moving toward him so that their bodies touched.

"Sort of, but not quite, Priscilla," he managed, tugging a rare cigarette from his inside pocket and lighting it. "I'm here for a political convention and this is my room. Here we are, a pair of people, boy-girl, in the perfect environment, hotel with satin sheets."

"Interesting, isn't it?" she said, raising up over him and looking down into his face. "Now, that you've analyzed it all, Doctor Denning, may I kiss you?"

"I love her!" Mark blurted. "When I left you, I had no idea it was going to happen, but it did! I love her!"

"You belonged to me before she came to Pickford's!" Priscilla hissed up into his face. "Four years we loved, played, fucked! I sucked your cock dry a hundred times! Then you walked away from me like that?"

"None of it matters!" he managed, realizing the ridiculousness of his statement. "I mean, Christ, I love her, Priscilla!"

"And me, what am I? Some sort of forgotten whore?"

"Damn it, let's face the truth for once!" Mark gasped, struggling against her as she nudged him toward the bed. "You wanted someone to play with and you had him! No marriage, Priscilla... face it, I was beneath your station! Wasn't I? And the guy whose cock you were sucking wanted just a little bit more. Like a wife - and maybe, even kids of his own! So that's what's happened, right? That's what's going to happen!"

"You're a bastard, Mark Denning, but I love you!" she hotly whispered into his face. "I've always loved you!"

"Your father wouldn't let you love me... even when I wanted it that way!" Mark returned, lying back once more and dragging at his cigarette. "And he knew more than both of us, because we never could've made it, Priss, no way. No way!"

"Oh! Oh, damn you!" she hissed, pushing him back so that he fell on the bed, rolling toward him and smoothing her hand upward along his inner thigh. "You say these things to me when I want to make love to you... I want your cock... I want you the way it used to be!"

"It can't be that way, Priss," he said, grasping her arm trying to entwine around his neck. "Don't you understand? I love her... my Desirée... I love her!"

She sat upright with an abruptness that startled him. The depth of her greenish eyes in rage spat obsessive fire down at him. "You're mine, you bastard! I don't give a damn about your Desirée... !" she swore, and he felt her hand knowingly caressing at the front of his pants!

Mark made an effort toward stopping her, but she counteracted that by dropping down onto him, snatching the cigarette from his lips and flattening the firm mounds of her firm breasts against his chest, her hot, moistened lips finding his in an opened-mouth kiss. Her tiny, familiar tongue heatedly wormed its way between his lips while her hand continued to eagerly stroke the length of his uncontrollably hardening cock between them. He could have forced her off him, both of them knew that. He could have fought it right then and there, but he didn't! Instead, he realized that he was suddenly returning her passionate kiss thrusting his tongue into her sweet-tasting mouth in blind, rapidly building lust!

His brain struggled, but he knew it was useless... he'd been there before! She was unzipping the fly of his pants, and then he felt her smooth, claiming hand easing inside, beyond the cotton of his shorts, its knowing fingers warmly encircling the now blood- engorged thickness of his long, swollen cock! He grunted into her mouth at the erotic caress, letting his arms move around her, his hands smoothing over the small of her back and downward beyond her slender waist to the rising swell of her skirt-covered buttocks.

She broke their kiss, staring almost triumphantly down into his face, the lustful desire in her burning, green eyes causing them to glow like polished ovals of jade. "You may love your Dezzy... but you need me, Darling!" she hissed in a throaty whisper. "You'll always want Priscilla, because she knows how to make love to you... knows what you want and need... knows how much you love to have your cock licked and sucked by a warm wet mouth!"

"Damn you, Priss... you sexy bitch!" he choked, working her loose, riding skirt up to find her lush, rounded buttocks unsurprisingly naked beneath, their soft, yielding resilience warm and smooth to his clutching hands. "It isn't going to gain you a lousy point, you hear?"